


The Wedding Planner

by this_is_a_love_story (diner_drama)



Category: Fleabag (TV)
Genre: F/M, Wedding Planner AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-21
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:21:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21515953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diner_drama/pseuds/this_is_a_love_story
Summary: An alternate universe in which Fleabag is a wedding planner, and Klare and Claire have found the perfect Catholic church to get hitched in..."Do you want some of the communion wine?" he blurted out, wanting her to stick around for a little longer. "I can't throw it away because it's holy," he explained, "and I probably shouldn't finish the bottle by myself. It's a good vintage."She cocked an eyebrow. "Is this the part where I say 'Sorry, Daddy, I've been a bad girl'?"He coughed and nearly dropped the bottle. "'Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned' is more traditional," he managed, fishing out two glasses and pouring them both a liberal serving.
Relationships: Fleabag/Priest (Fleabag), Klare/Claire (Fleabag)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 223





	1. Something Old

The priest was beginning to think that officiating a wedding for the first time was going to be more trouble than it was worth.

"I realise that there are certain things that are unavoidable in a Catholic wedding ceremony," the bride was saying in clipped tones, "but if you could just tone it down a bit on the... incense."

"Right," said the priest with an uneasy half smile.

"And maybe try to keep the prayers snappy and efficient. These are very busy people, you understand."

"OK." He shifted in his seat. "If you don't mind me asking, is there some reason you've chosen my church in particular?"

"It's the only Catholic church within five minutes' walk of the company's offices," answered Claire without hesitation, sweeping her immaculate dark hair behind one ear and frowning at her Blackberry.

"And it's beautiful!" beamed her effusive fiancé, who was inexplicably also named Klare. He seemed to have a positive opinion on everything he encountered, so the priest didn't judge the compliment as holding much weight.

"Oh," said Claire, clearly not having considered the attractiveness of the venue in her calculations. She smiled warmly at Klare, her brusque exterior melting away for a moment. "Yes, of course, it's..." she looked around the chapel as though she hadn't paid it any attention before. "It is beautiful," she said more softly, taking a private moment with Klare as she met his eye.

It was this, more than anything else, that convinced the priest to go ahead with the planning. To be able to celebrate love and to mark the key occasions in people's lives were the shining bright points in his quiet, peaceful career, and the love between these two was easy to see.

"I'm sure we can create a lovely ceremony together," he said with his most winning smile. "Are your family Catholic?"

She scoffed in a way that he was fairly sure she didn't mean to be offensive. "God, no."

"My family are old Catholic, very old," said Klare delightedly. "Many, too!"

"Yes, there are _so very many_ of them," said Claire tightly, giving the priest a significant look that her blithe fiancé entirely failed to notice.

"The whole Korhonen family!" rhapsodised Klare. "So much blond hair that it will look like the sun!"

Suddenly, a matching his-and-hers cacophony of phone alerts began to chime. Claire and Klare both consulted their PDAs. 

"It was so wonderful to meet you," said Klare earnestly, shaking the priest's hand in both of his as he rose to his feet. "I am so sorry that we have to leave!"

"Yes, right," said Claire briskly, pulling a small business card from her pocket. "I'm too busy and important to deal with this at the moment so you'll mostly be dealing with my sister," she said, handing it to him.

The card was emblazoned with the name "Hillary's Events", some contact information and, incongruously, an illustration of a guinea pig.

"She has my explicit instructions, so she _should_ be able to handle it," continued Claire, pulling more cards from her purse, "but if anything goes wrong here's my work number, and here's my mobile, and this one's for my secretary."

"Oh, your sister's a wedding planner?"

"Yes, she is wonderful!" said Klare.

"She's good enough," said Claire with a tight smile. It was impossible to tell whether that was the highest praise that she was capable of giving or if her reticence betrayed genuine misgivings. "If she tells you anything about the hen do, it's not true."

"Well, congratulations on your engagement," said the priest politely, following them to the front door. "You must be excited to begin your marriage."

"It's a vestigial patriarchal tradition based on the handing down of women as property from father to husband," said Claire vaguely, looking at her phone again, "but it's what you do."

She flashed him another smile and they left. The priest managed to summon up a dazed smile in response to Klare's effusive waving, and then repaired back inside to find a stiff drink.

* * *

The CEO, customer service representative, creative director, office manager, head of human resources, tsar of morale, and sole employee of Hillary's Events was hiding under the desk in her office.

"M'lady!" hollered the lawyer through the keyhole. She burrowed further underneath the table, pushing a pair of shoes, a surprising amount of paperwork, and half a Mars bar out of her way.

A lunchtime quickie had _seemed_ like an excellent idea at 3am when she'd sent him the original text, but the cold harsh light of day and one rapid but effective wank had dispelled the urge, and the prospect of trading half an hour of his loathsome company for some admittedly excellent sex no longer appealed. 

A better adult, she reflected as she gave the Mars bar a sniff and began to eat it, would probably have simply cancelled their meeting and apologised, but if a successful businesswoman who ate a _salad_ earlier couldn't do something grossly immature, who could?

Her desk phone began to ring and she groped blindly above her head to grab the receiver.

"Hillary's Events," she hissed into the phone. The lawyer continued his relentless pounding at the door.

"Uh, hi," said a voice on the other end, sounding confused. "I'm, uh, I'm calling about Claire's wedding? I'm the priest?"

Fantastic timing. "Great, thanks for calling," she whispered. "I'd like to send you over some bits about the ceremony to go over when you've got a moment."

There was a long pause. "I'm sorry, but why the fuck are you whispering and what the fuck is that noise?"

"Get back out here, you little minx!" shouted the lawyer at possibly the worst moment.

"If you're in the middle of something, I can call back some other time," said the priest, radiating discomfort over the phone.

"That's just a... colleague," she breezed, settling more comfortably in her hideout. "He usually tires himself out in a couple of minutes."

"Do you need me to call someone? The police, or..."

"No, Father, it's fine." She scrabbled around on her desk again and retrieved a pen. "What's your email address?" She uncapped the pen with her mouth and made assenting noises as she scribbled it down. Thankfully, the lawyer got bored at this point and left. 

"AOL?" she teased gently, reading the address back to him. "I thought the Catholics were stuck in the 1690s, not the 1990s."

"Oh, fuck you," he laughed.

"I hope you're going to swear this much during the ceremony. It would certainly liven things up."

"I'll try to keep a lid on it. I get the impression your sister wants it to be... efficient."

"Yes, she was _very_ specific. Brides don't usually give me binders that are colour-coded and have bullet points and subheadings." 

The main instructions that Claire had left her with, other than the binder, were " _don't_ fuck this up," and "the priest is quite hot, don't make it weird." She had to admit, he did have a nice voice.

"How long have you been in the wedding planning business?"

"A few years. I started it with my best friend, but she's... it's just me now." She paused for a minute and let the wave of grief hit her and then recede. "I need to come and check out the space sometime," she said, businesslike. "When's good for you?"

"I've some time this afternoon after Mass?"

"Great, I'll meet you there at four." 

It was a few moments after she hung up the phone that it occurred to her that she could emerge from under her desk and sit in a real chair. Hillary and Stephanie had the run of her desk at the moment while she refreshed the sawdust in their cage, and they were enthusiastically nibbling on Mr. and Mrs. Dollner's silver wedding anniversary invitations.

"Let's put you back," she murmured to them, brushing some tiny rodent poops off a stack of place cards. "Mama's got to get to work."

* * *

The priest was just saying his farewells to the last few stragglers when Claire's sister walked through the door. She was easily recognisable, both due to family resemblance and the fact that, strangely, she looked exactly how she sounded on the phone.

"You must be the wedding planner," he said, greeting her with a handshake.

"You must be the priest."

"I guess this is a bit of a give-away," he said, gesturing to his robes.

"You're either a member of the clergy or you've got a very specific fetish," she breezed, walking past him to survey the church. He gaped at her for a moment and then shook his head and let out a laugh. She looked back at him over her shoulder, a pleased twinkle in her eye.

She strode along the aisle, gesturing around with an assessing air. "It's a pretty straightforward set-up. Flowers at the ends of the pews, videographer here, photographers here and here, string quartet up here. One bridesmaid, one groomsman."

"You've got this down to a science, wow."

"I've learned through trial and error that you can half-ass up to 80% of a wedding before anyone notices."

"That's... good to know."

"Do you have any of these," - she gestured up and down at his robes - "in some other colours? The scheme has a lot of purple in it."

"I have just the thing," he said, ushering her through into his office. He pulled his favourite purple robes out of the wardrobe and held them up for inspection. Drawing a card of swatches from her handbag, she squinted at them and then gave an assenting nod.

"Right, I think that's all I-"

"Do you want some of the communion wine?" he blurted out, wanting her to stick around for a little longer. "I can't throw it away because it's holy," he explained, "and I probably shouldn't finish the bottle by myself. It's a good vintage."

She cocked an eyebrow. "Is this the part where I say 'Sorry, Daddy, I've been a bad girl'?"

He coughed and nearly dropped the bottle. "'Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned' is more traditional," he managed, fishing out two glasses and pouring them both a liberal serving.

"I defy you to tell me the difference."

Sitting down on an ancient chair and gesturing for her to do the same, he chuckled. "Well, fuck, you've got me there. You only have to say that if you want to confess your sins to me, anyway. Which you're welcome to do, if it helps."

"Can't," she said wryly, taking a sip and relaxing onto a chair. "I've sworn a blood oath to never reveal what happened on Claire's hen do."

"Lots of sinning?"

"Tons." She swirled the wine in her glass and held it up to the light. "The blood of our lord and saviour is pretty tasty."

"I take it you're not religious."

"Afraid not. I won't burst into flames, will I?"

"I don't think He would mind," said the priest, making a vague gesture at the ceiling. "You're doing God's work, after all."

"Wedding planning?"

"He's quite into marriage, on the whole."

She snorted. "Makes one of us."

He leaned back in his chair and stifled a laugh, enjoying the enigma of this contradictory woman. "You made a fucking strange choice in profession, then." 

"I find that the fact that I don't believe at all in the institution of marriage really helps calm people down."

"You know, the Bible says that-"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "Yes, the Bible is very clear that marriage is a sacred and beautiful union between a man and one or many women."

"So cynical!" he crowed, throwing his head back in laughter. "I was going to say that it says that a cord of three strands is not easily broken."

"Are you inviting me to a threesome, Father?" she smirked, her lips stained a tempting red from the wine. "Because I'm not saying no."

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I'm saying that the way you help to join people together makes them stronger."

"On average, marriage knocks 1.4 years from a woman's lifespan, and adds 1.7 years to a man's."

"So that's a net gain of," he waved a hand vaguely, "0.3 years!"

"That's one way to look at it."

"Don't you see _anything_ wonderful in what you do? You're helping people to celebrate their love!"

"In the most meaningful and legally binding way. Tell me, why do people choose to make the most significant expression of their love predicated on a legal construct that the government can take away from them at the drop of a hat?"

"The protections that marriage can afford are-"

"If I fell in love with a _woman_ and wanted to marry her, there are only 28 countries in which that marriage would be legally recognised. If I'd fallen in love with someone of a different race, that marriage would have been illegal in some countries until the late 20th Century."

"You've put a lot of thought into this, haven't you?"

She put a foot up on the wooden chest in front of her, really getting into her stride. "That's not even taking into account the children who are forcibly married off to men twice their age, the women killed for not being virgins on their wedding night, and the fact that spousal rape was _technically legal in this country until 1991_." She took a gulp of her drink. "This isn't some abstract philosophical problem from the past, this is something that's happening to _real people_ right now."

"So why-"

"I guess... I grew up thinking that marriage was some bizarre thing from the olden days that we didn't have to do any more, but then when I was an adult all my friends started getting married, and it _meant_ something to them." 

She looked down at her hands, clasped around the glass. "I think the thing that it means _to them_ is beautiful."

"So you _do_ believe in love."

"Absolutely, it's just that it sometimes feels like I'm shoving a princess into a white dress so I can send her off to live in a dragon-guarded castle."

"That sounds fucking amazing."

"Sorry, that was a bad example."

"Don't you find it beautiful that for thousands of years, people have chosen to celebrate their commitment to each other in front of their community?"

"If you think it's so beautiful, why have you chosen a profession which forbids you from getting married yourself?"

"I am married... to God," he mumbled, aware of just how that sentence sounded.

She screwed up her face. " _Ugh_."

He buried his face in his hands. "I know!"

"Just... ugh."

"Fuck, I can't believe I said that out loud. I really wanted you to think I was cool."

"Sorry, Father, I think that train has sailed."

"No, no, no, no, the wedding's not for another few weeks, I have time to convince you."

"I'll drink to that," she murmured, and then she did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going for "Fleabag rant" at the end there and I may have ended up at "Aaron Sorkin rant" but hey, it still works for me.


	2. Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That's... interesting, wow," the priest was saying, looking both polite and extremely uncomfortable. The bride's godmother was clinging tightly to his bicep. The father of the bride was standing mildly in the background with his usual level of understanding of the situation, namely none.
> 
> Her dress was voluminous, lacy, and pure, brilliant _white_.
> 
> Nonchalantly, the wedding planner made her approach, swiping the glass of merlot from the table as she went. 
> 
> With a practised ease, she managed to trip when she was a foot or so away from her godmother, and sent the dark red wine flying straight over the front of her dress, miraculously missing the priest.
> 
> "Oops," she said, very convincingly.

"I prefer the last one," said the priest, putting down the bouquet on the florist's counter.

The wedding planner was inspecting the peonies in minute detail, her nose crinkling in a way that he was trying very hard not to find adorable. "Me too."

He ran his eye over the other flower arrangement, the soft purples of the freesias soothing and pleasant. "It's a bit more subtle." 

"Elegant, yeah." It would be _so easy_ just to reach out and kiss her.

"I just think the baby's breath is a bit..."

She nodded. "Yeah. Definitely that one."

The florist took careful note of their choices and disappeared into the back of the shop without a word. 

The priest examined the pollen coating his fingers and did his best to wipe it off on his trousers. "Has my knowledge of flower arranging made me seem more cool or less cool?" he asked, fairly certain that he could predict the answer.

" _Much_ more cool, obviously."

"Knew it."

* * *

Hillary was making herself quite at home on the priest's shoulder as he made himself comfortable with a drink in the desk chair. "Do guinea pigs even get married?" he asked. "Are they monogamous?"

"I _think_ they mate for life," said the wedding planner, pouring herself a generous glass of the Business Rum she kept in the bottom of the filing cabinet.

"What about hamsters?" He nodded to where Stephanie was trying to climb inside a coffee mug.

"Female hamsters sometimes kill the male partner after mating, so I'd say they'd be a less appropriate mascot."

He shrugged. "I don't know, if you want repeat customers I guess you've got to break up the marriage somehow."

"That's beautiful, Father, you should put that in your speech at the wedding."

Hillary began to nibble politely on his ear and he manoeuvred his head to get away from her teeth without dislodging her from her perch. "If you were getting married, what would you want the priest to say?"

"I'd want you to say, 'Stop the wedding! Let's go and fuck in a hotel room instead'."

"Come on, you must have thought about it."

"I've thought about it a _lot_." She gave him a lascivious look over the top of her glass.

"I mean your _wedding_."

Crossing one long leg over the other, she threw her hands up in surrender. "I _genuinely_ haven't. I'm sorry to disappoint you."

He leaned forwards on his elbows, drawn towards her like a flower to the sun, and laughed. "You really are a fucking enigma."

"I try to cultivate an air of mystery. How about you? Did you used to plan your big day? Get your Action Man dolls to dress up and hold hands?"

He wriggled a little, feeling uncomfortably exposed. She crowed with laughter.

"You did!"

"It wasn't my Action Men."

"Uh-huh."

He winced. "I used my brother's Care Bears."

"What's the opposite of an enigma? You're that."

"I'm Alan Turing?"

"Oh god, I fancy a nerd."

"Fuck _off_."

* * *

"Does your alarm clock work? You haven't taken out the batteries to use in your vibrator again, have you?"

"Claire! I'm a professional adult."

"Sorry."

"My vibrator is mains-powered these days."

"I really need you to take this seriously."

"I will."

"No, really, there are very important people who will be attending."

"It'll be fine."

"Just don't be... you."

"Am I ever?"

* * *

It was the morning of the wedding and the priest was pacing around the church, anxiously checking on all of the preparations.

"Is there supposed to be a glass of red wine on this table?" 

"Yes," said the wedding planner, smoothly steering him away. "I'm going to need it later."

"You and me both," he mumbled.

"Nervous?"

He wrinkled his nose and squinted adorably. "A tad."

"I'd recommend a quickie in the broom cupboard to take your mind off things, but..."

He looked for a moment as though he were considering her suggestion, wild eyes focusing helplessly on her lips. 

"Yeah, no, best not," he decided, unconsciously running a finger up and down the spine of the bible in his hand.

* * *

"Ungh!"

"Unf!"

"Ah! Fuck!"

"OK, I think that's got it."

A pause. "Are you sure?" asked Claire.

"Yeah," panted her sister, tying the laces of the corset in a final knot. "They should really consider getting a hitching post installed if they're going to carry on doing weddings."

"At least this one's a sensible length," said Claire, inspecting herself in the mirror. She cut a lovely figure in her blush-pink calf-length dress, the gauzy fabric lending a softness to her austere frame. "Do you remember the poofy skirt on the last one?"

"I remember having to help you go to the toilet."

"Don't remind me."

"You were all-"

" _Don't_ remind me," she said, more sharply. "All right?"

"OK, OK, Jesus."

* * *

"That's Maria and Johan," she murmured into Claire's ear, pointing out a couple on the other side of the room and consulting the family tree on her phone. "Klare's first cousins, once removed."

"All right, and who's that one in the green dress?" asked Claire in an undertone. They were hiding in the organ loft while their friends and family filed into the church, scoping out the crowd.

"That's our cousin Charlotte."

She squinted. "Fat Charlotte?"

"She lost weight."

"Obviously. God."

Claire sipped her champagne nervously and tapped her foot. Her sister laid a hand on her arm to give it a comforting squeeze.

"It's all under control," she reassured her.

" _Aren't_ you just so dreadfully _chic_!" shrieked a voice from below.

"And that's my cue."

* * *

"That's... interesting, wow," the priest was saying, looking both polite and extremely uncomfortable. The bride's godmother was clinging tightly to his bicep. The father of the bride was standing mildly in the background with his usual level of understanding of the situation, namely none.

Her dress was voluminous, lacy, and pure, brilliant _white_.

Nonchalantly, the wedding planner made her approach, swiping the glass of merlot from the table as she went. 

With a practised ease, she managed to trip when she was a foot or so away from her godmother, and sent the dark red wine flying straight over the front of her dress, miraculously missing the priest.

"Oops," she said, very convincingly.

"You-" started her godmother, rage building through the syllable. "You-"

"I actually happen to have another dress in your exact size right through here," she said smoothly, laying a hand on the small of her back and steering her towards a side room. She spluttered and fumed as the door was closed firmly in her face.

"Hi, Dad," said the wedding planner, kissing him on the cheek.

"That was very naughty," he said mildly, looking unperturbed.

"I know," she said with no contrition whatsoever. "Claire's in the organ loft, go and bring her downstairs and wait for my cue."

"All right, darling. You look, er, very... yes," he tailed off, wandering up the stairs.

"I can't believe how fucking smooth you made that look," said the priest in an undertone, leaning close, his eyes wide and twinkling with mirth.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," she said, and reached out to straighten his purple vestment. 

As she ran her hands over the smooth fabric on his shoulders, he let out an exhalation that was unsuited to a man of God. Bringing up one hand to cup her cheek, he trailed a thumb over her red lips before stealing a kiss, just one swift, close-mouthed press of the lips. She made a soft little sound and pressed her body closer to his, winding a hand into his dark hair.

The approaching sound of Claire's heels clicking on the wooden staircase broke them apart. He spun away and wiped the lipstick from his mouth while the wedding planner tried very hard not to look too smug.

"Right," said Claire between her teeth, tension evident in every line of her body. "Let's get this over with."

"Claire," said her sister softly, holding her by the upper arms. "Take a deep breath in... and let it out... OK?"

Claire did as instructed, and some of the nervous energy seeped out of her. "OK."

"You're marrying the man you love today," said the wedding planner, her usual armour of ironic detachment giving way to something startling in its sincerity, her eyes gentle as she connected with her sister. "That's the only thing that matters."

Claire smiled at this, a tight, guarded little thing, but a smile nonetheless.

"Alternatively, I've got a getaway car right outside if you want to blow this whole thing off and elope to Hawaii."

That elicited a laugh, and finally Claire squared her shoulders and raised her head high, ready to march on.


	3. Something Borrowed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You looked great in the purple," she continued, motioning up and down his body where the vestment used to be. He'd already changed back down to his plain black shirt and trousers, which were less flamboyant but did show off his muscles in a sexy, understated kind of way.
> 
> Not that she was looking, or anything.
> 
> "You look absolutely fucking-" he started. "Oh, yes, bless you," he said to another guest.
> 
> "You're right, I do look absolutely fucking," she laughed.
> 
> "Lovely," he said, laying a hand on the small of her back and leaning close to murmur in her ear. "Absolutely fucking lovely."

The priest was resplendent in his plum robes, gracing the assembled guests with a dazzling smile as the string quartet played a slow march. 

Claire processed slowly up the aisle on her father's arm, walking in step to the music. Beaming widely, Klare awaited her before the altar, the picture of happiness on seeing his bride.

They met at the head of the aisle and turned to each other, the rest of the world forgotten for a moment as they shared a silent communion. The best man and the wedding planner (who was doing double duty as maid of honour and only bridesmaid), having followed in step, parted ways, and she slid into her assigned seat at the front of the church, landing next to and slightly on top of her godmother, who was wearing a new dress and an expression of mulish displeasure.

Clearing his throat, the priest spread his arms wide to begin his consecration of the marriage.

"Love is selfish," he declared.

The wedding planner shot him a look which she hoped communicated the pressing need for the wedding ceremony not to be _fucking weird_.

"Romantic love consumes you, distracts you, makes you pour all of your energy into loving just one person more than everyone else in the world. It torments you! It keeps you up at night, makes you neglect your duties, makes you want to hoard all of someone else's attention for yourself."

Susurrations were permeating the congregation, guests murmuring to each other in confusion.

"Love is a catastrophe! It hits you like a freight train and leaves you burning with hurt and passion. So why on Earth do we choose it?"

He paused and focused his attention on the bride and groom.

"The Bible teaches us that God's love is infinite. Just as a parent's love for one child doesn't decrease when they have a second child, so does God's love expand to cover all the multitudes of the earth. I think that when you fall in love with one person, it multiplies your love for the entire universe."

Claire and Klare looked into each other's eyes, unspeakably soft smiles blooming on their faces.

"I think the strength that comes from the bonds of marriage opens up the rest of the world to you. I think that the capacity of human love is infinite and ever-expanding."

Relaxing back into her seat a little as things seemed to be back on track, the wedding planner took a moment to bask in the sight of him, standing illuminated by his faith. He met her eyes and graced her with one of his gentle smiles as he spoke the conclusion.

"For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is God's love."

* * *

"Come here, I've got a present for you," whispered the wedding planner to her sister, managing to snatch a quiet moment between the procession out of the church and forming a receiving line outside.

"Oh, you shouldn't have," said Claire, still a little starry-eyed and flustered after the ceremony. She opened the ornate little gift box and then pinned her sister with a disapproving frown. "You shouldn't have," she said again, in an entirely different tone of voice.

"Come on," she smirked as she took the bronze torso out of the box. "Did you really expect anything else?"

Claire nestled the statue back into the tissue paper, her mouth set into a firm line that was nonetheless twitching with suppressed, fond mirth.

"Come on," she sighed. "It's time for the receiving line."

They were accosted by Klare as soon as they emerged, blinking into the sunlight.

"You did a wonderful job!" he exclaimed, effusively kissing his new sister-in-law on both cheeks.

"Yes, you actually did," said Claire, sounding mildly surprised. "That priest was a bit weird," she added in an undertone. "I wish he'd- oh!" she said quickly as the priest walked up to shake her hand. " _Lovely_ service, Father, thank you so much."

"Thank _you_. You were wonderful, both of you. Thanks so much for choosing my church for this, it was an honour to be able to marry you."

He clapped Klare on the shoulder and moved on to take the wedding planner's hand, stroking his thumb over hers and holding on for a moment longer than was strictly appropriate.

"Father," she greeted him. "That ceremony was really something."

"Thanks, I- oh, hi!" he broke off as a parishioner approached. "God bless you," he said politely, waving the man off and taking his place in line beside the wedding party.

"You looked great in the purple," she continued, motioning up and down his body where the vestment used to be. He'd already changed back down to his plain black shirt and trousers, which were less flamboyant but did show off his muscles in a sexy, understated kind of way.

Not that she was looking, or anything.

"You look absolutely fucking-" he started. "Oh, yes, bless you," he said to another guest.

"You're right, I do look absolutely fucking," she laughed.

"Lovely," he said, laying a hand on the small of her back and leaning close to murmur in her ear. "Absolutely fucking lovely."

"I completely agree," said a wry, amused voice. A stylish older woman grasped the wedding planner by the shoulders and gave her a firm kiss on the lips.

"Belinda," she responded, kissing her back. "I hope you liked the ceremony."

"Beautiful, absolutely beautiful," said Belinda, making very sincere eye contact. "I must book you to plan my funeral for me."

The wedding planner let out a laugh. "That's a terrible investment. You'll outlive us all."

"I'll see you at dinner." Belinda grinned at her fondly and kissed her again, giving a courteous nod to the priest as she walked away.

"Was that... is she your...?" he managed, shifting uncomfortably on his feet.

"No, but she _is_ the best woman in business."

"Ah. Difficult to resist."

"Impossible."

The crowd had thinned out a great deal, with only a few stragglers remaining, waiting to accompany the bride and groom over the road to a sleek glass-and-chrome hotel for the reception.

"We're heading to the reception venue, can you deal with the...?" said Claire to her sister, pausing expectantly.

"Don't worry about it," said the wedding planner. "I'm on it."

The priest was engaged in friendly conversation with Klare's parents, and jumped a little when his elbow was grabbed. "Stay behind for a minute," she murmured. "I might need your help with this next bit."

"I hope you don't need my spiritual guidance," he responded, waving goodbye to the Korhonens and following her inside, "because I think I've used up my one good speech today."

"No, just a bit of brute and manly strength if required."

"Ah, listen, about earlier, I really can't-"

"Not _that_ kind of manly strength. Just come on."

She dragged him into an alcove near the door, checking the time on her phone.

"Any minute now."

"What are we-"

"Shh!" She put a hand over his mouth to muffle his protests, and they waited in silence as the seconds ticked by, listening for the creak of the old wooden door. Just as the priest began to entertain the idea of licking her hand in the name of revenge, a set of footsteps shuffled to the entrance and the doors were flung wide open. 

A balding man with dark, curly hair strode in, reeking of whisky and waving his arms in the air. "Stop the wedding!" he bellowed, his words echoing in the empty church. "I object! I _object_!"

He paused after a moment, noticing the lack of a wedding in progress, and this was when the wedding planner stepped out of the alcove.

"You! I should have known you'd fuck this up," he hissed, jabbing a finger into her shoulder. "Where's the fucking wedding at?"

"Sorry, Martin, I _might_ have _accidentally_ given Jake the wrong time," she replied, the picture of innocence.

"Fuck you!" he screamed, jabbing her again. "This is all your fault!"

Calmly, she grabbed him by the arm and pulled it up behind his back into a half nelson, his reactions slurred by alcohol, leaving him only able to flail and jerk as she hustled him out the door.

"If you could just deal with the other one," she said to the priest, who was looking as though he wanted to help.

"The other one?" he said, walking outside behind her. "Oh, hello Jake."

Jake did not need much dealing with, trailing mutely behind his father as they were firmly ejected from the premises and sent on their way with a strongly hinted threat of police involvement and/or physical violence if they didn't stay away.

She stared after them, eyes narrowed, until they were out of sight, then before she could turn back to the priest, she found herself gripped by his strong arms and slammed against the stone wall of the church exterior.

"That was the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen," he growled, and crashed his lips into hers.

"I did request some manly strength," she purred, threading her arms around his neck and kissing him back.

"I don't think you need it," he said, cradling her cheek with fevered reverence and trailing his lips over her jawline. 

She scraped her nails over the back of his neck and down his shoulders, the thin fabric of his shirt doing little to dull the sensation, and tipped back her head, baring her throat to him. "Oh, I need it."


	4. Something Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their father cleared his throat and stood. Bit by bit, the room fell quiet, and he smiled at the assembled guests, a brief grimace that was gone almost as soon as it appeared.
> 
> "It's my, er, pleasure, to, er... sincerely... very much," he began. The wedding planner gave him an encouraging grin. This was actually going better than expected. He turned to the bride. "Claire is my... er... daughter..." He halted, making some kind of filler noise that rose in pitch until it tailed off, audible presumably only to passing dogs. "You know... er..."

"You look flustered, what happened?" hissed Claire from the corner of her mouth as her sister slid into her seat next to her at the head table. "He wasn't violent, was he, because I'm prepared to sue if-"

The wedding planner started. "No!" she whispered, tucking a stray strand of her unruly hair behind her ear. "Why would you even ask that?" 

"I just know that Martin's a bit-"

"Oh, yeah, Martin," she said, visibly relaxing and surreptitiously smoothing out the creases in her dress. "No, he was fine. Drunk."

"Then why are you so..." Through the back door of the hotel reception room, the priest came shuffling in, apologising in hushed whispers as he pushed past the other diners on the way to his seat, his collar crooked and his hair tousled. "Oh."

"Yeah."

"You are joking."

"Just... shut up. Did I miss anything good?"

"Well, the CEO is acting like an arse," she said, sipping her glass of champagne and surveying a nearby table with ill-disguised calculation, "but honestly that works out well for my promotion prospects, so I'm all for it."

"I can arrange for an extra bottle of wine or two to be sent to his table if it'd help."

"I'll let you know."

She watched as her sister took three bites of her starter and pushed the rest of it around her plate. "When are the speeches?" asked Claire.

"Three quarters of an hour, which should be just after they serve pudding."

"Excellent," said Claire, standing up and abandoning her meal. "That gives me time to catch the partners from the Belgian wing of the company. I think now would be a good time to grill them on their efficiency savings."

"Sure," said the wedding planner, quirking an eyebrow. "Romantic. Table three."

After her sister had insinuated herself at the appropriate table and was engaged in a serious-looking discussion about some boring business thing, the wedding planner - in what she hoped was a ladylike, subtle way - swapped her plate with her sister's and made short work of the salmon terrine. 

Sitting back in her seat and stifling a burp, she scanned the crowd with a secret smile, proud of how the day had come together. Her eyes lingered on the priest, who was listening intently to her Great Aunt Winifred with genuine interest as she embarked on one of her (long, tortuous, probably racist) stories. A little mark was peeking out of his collar where she'd sucked a bruise into his neck after he pinned her against the wall and-

As though he could feel her gaze, he looked up, met her eye, blushed, looked down at the table, and allowed himself to smile.

There was a sea of blonde hair in the room, attached to dozens of smiling Korhonens, all as effusive in their praise and happiness as Klare. The other wing of the family were more of a mixed bag, Scots of varying degrees of dourness making uncomfortable conversation with Mum's weird sisters.

Claire turned up again as the second course was drawing to a close.

"Are you about to eat my steak?"

"No," she said quickly, withdrawing her hand.

"You can have it, I'm just going to eat some ice."

"You're going to _eat ice_?" said the wedding planner, gobsmacked, as her sister picked up a couple of cubes from her glass of water and began to crunch on them.

"What?" said Claire through a mouthful of ice.

Their father cleared his throat and stood. Bit by bit, the room fell quiet, and he smiled at the assembled guests, a brief grimace that was gone almost as soon as it appeared.

"It's my, er, pleasure, to, er... sincerely... very much," he began. The wedding planner gave him an encouraging grin. This was actually going better than expected. He turned to the bride. "Claire is my... er... daughter..." He halted, making some kind of filler noise that rose in pitch until it tailed off, audible presumably only to passing dogs. "You know... er..."

His stumbling attempt at a toast went on for two more uncomfortable minutes, before eventually he managed to force out "er... upstanding..." and raise his glass of champagne. "The bride and groom!" he announced, finishing strong, and drained his glass, sitting heavily with a relieved sigh.

"Thanks dad," said Claire sincerely, kissing him on the cheek.

"Well... I meant every word," he said, looking shell-shocked.

Klare stood next, taking the microphone and dazzling the audience with both the size of his smile and the whiteness of his teeth.

"It is so wonderful that you can all be here to celebrate with me and my beautiful bride! When I first saw Claire, she walked into my office in Finland and said that she was going to be my business partner, and I thought she was pulling on my nose! I never thought I would be so lucky in my life. Now please, come to join us as we cut the cake."

The photographer was politely but firmly placed in the correct location to capture the moment with the best possible light, and then the wedding planner slid into the DJ booth to give him a pinch at just the right moment to begin the first dance. Klare, very wisely, decided against smushing a slice of cake into Claire's face, and patiently fed a bite of it to her instead, with an expression of intense love in his eyes.

Her job largely finished for the day, barring any major emergencies, the wedding planner breathed a sigh of relief and slipped away for a well-earned cigarette outside. She rested her forehead on the cool brick wall and blew out a steady stream of smoke, the tension of the day slowly easing from her shoulders.

A twig cracked behind her and she straightened.

"Hello," said the priest sheepishly. "I don't suppose I could bum a fag off you?"

Taking the lit cigarette from between her lips, she held it out to him and fished another one out of her handbag. He took it and put it in his mouth, his lips meeting her lipstick stains like a second-hand kiss.

The silence between them was as comfortable as it was electric, the sounds of their inhales and exhales cutting through the stillness. It lasted the length of a cigarette, before he was tugging her by the hand, motioning for her to follow him.

"What?"

"Just come and see."

She followed him, grumbling something about manic pixie dream priests. It turned out to be a vivid patch of forget-me-nots that had wormed their way into a crack in the polished facade of the building, struggling out of the tiny patch of earth to explode in colour.

"So beautiful, isn't it?" he said, giving her a heated look.

"It's probably deeply symbolic. I don't know of what, though," she agreed, brushing a finger against the tiny blossoms. She turned her head to look back at him over her shoulder and gave him a tiny smirk. Some last vestige of self-restraint broke inside his chest and he backed her against the wall, cupping her cheek in his hand and capturing her parted lips in a deep kiss.

The strains of music from the dance floor were just audible in their secluded corner.

"Dance with me," he murmured into her skin. She twined her arms around his neck and they swayed together on the mossy brick of their makeshift dancefloor.

"Do you make a habit of dragging women into alleyways to ravage them on the pretext of showing them flowers?"

"I'll show you my stamen if you show me your pistil," he said, leering unattractively.

"Oh my God, you _nerd_ ," she laughed, burying her face in his shoulder.

"So how are you feeling about the institution of marriage now? Has all this changed your mind at all?" he asked, looking into her eyes with a soft smile.

She snorted. "God, no." She pressed her body deliberately against his, a teasing smile on her red lips. "How are _you_ feeling about priestly celibacy?" 

He took some time to respond, his thumbs stroking over the curve of her hips.

"I don't know," he said slowly, and leaned in for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have a spare hour, you should totally listen to [Sian Clifford's episode of the Off Menu podcast](https://play.acast.com/s/offmenu/bc6760c1-323b-4b12-a465-7e9e89fe1b28) with Ed Gamble and James Acaster. It's officially adorable.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me [on Tumblr](https://this-is-a-love-story-fleabag.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Let me know your favourite lines in the comments!


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